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Hank came through the door, pushing a heavy metal table mounted on wheels.

Hank took the opportunity to cup one of her tits in his meaty hand. She was quickly strapped down, her hands over her head, her ankles bound to the lower end of the metal table, far apart, so that her thighs gaped open.

They would betray their friends, tell secrets, promise to be good in the future. She stared in fascination at the innocent-looking metal rod.

It was about an inch and a half thick and two feet long. It was a magic wand that made people do whatever the French wanted them to do. “Let’s give the little bitch a light jolt to make her realize we mean business,” Glenda said coldly.

Hammer ordered the obviously disappointed Hank to leave. But Glenda slid the rod up between the cringing girl’s thighs. “It helps if you put a little grease on it,” Hammer said. Never before in her life had anything hurt her so much.